


Musefic: Bachelor Party

by Filigree



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: M/M, Muses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-24
Updated: 2010-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigree/pseuds/Filigree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Worth!Klaus meets Canon!Klaus...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musefic: Bachelor Party

**Author's Note:**

> Worth = _Worth A Thousand Words_ , an incomplete work which shall be posted. Eventually. In between me writing original fic.

The Writer glared at the Klaus-muse she’d summoned half an hour ago. He hadn’t said a thing, so far. “You’re remarkably frosty today, m’dear.”

The Major glared back. “I am here against my will. Why should I pretend to pleasantries I do not feel?”

“You pretend not to feel anything. Anybody who reads the manga gets -- ideas -- that you really do care,” the Writer said, leaning back in her office chair.

“I care about honour,” said the Major. “Duty. The primacy of law. I have no time for anything else. Will you let me return to my job, now? I do belong to Aoike, you realize?”

“Yes, yes, we’ve gone over that. I don’t own you, sweetheart. I merely play with the million million aspects of you that crop up in the multiverse. So many different Majors -- do you have any idea how rough it is, trying to reveal those differences while still being true to the original. To you?”

The Major gave her a slight, ironic bow. “Feel free to devote your creative energies into original characters of your own.”

“I do. But you’re so fascinating. All of you. Take this Klaus, for example....” She waved a hand, and another tall, dark-haired man appeared in the office. He was dressed in a magnificent charcoal-grey suit, adorned with one scarlet rose at the lapel. His hand was raised, as if to knock on a door.

“Let me in, dammit,” he growled, “there are reporters out here -- “ He paused, noting the change in scenery with a grimace and a shrug. “Do you mind?” he asked the Writer. “The script says I’m getting married in thirty minutes.”

The true Klaus coughed.

The Writer grinned. “Nervous, dear one? It’s not going to be easy. I can’t write happily-ever-after.”

The groom nodded. “It will be worth it, though. Er -- why am I here, madam?”

“I need a favour,” said the Writer. “Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach -- meet Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach. Aoike’s original Major.”  
The groom narrowed his eyes, sniffed. “Sad bastard, isn’t he?”

“I beg your pardon?” Klaus snarled, raising a fist.

“So,” said the groom. “This one lost his mother, not his father.”

“Yup,” said the Writer.

“I can’t imagine a life without Mother around,” said the groom. “Or Josef.”

“Who’s Josef?” The true Klaus looked deeply suspicious.

“My little brother.”

The true Klaus turned paler. “He’s going to be present, at this wedding of yours?”

An evil grin, from the groom. “Of course. We are on good terms.”

“Who -- what woman did you find, to – ”

The Writer and the groom burst into peals of delighted laughter.

“Oh, never mind,” said the groom wiping tears from his eyes, with the sleeve of his very expensive suitcoat. “You really are a stick in the mud, aren’t you?”

“That’s what you’re here for,” said the Writer. “Shake him up a little. Show him what he’s missing--”

A pause, filled with realization and possibilities. The true Klaus shuddered, whispering “You wouldn’t dare -- “  
The groom tilted his head, considering. One lean, strong hand stole upward to loosen his exquisite silk tie. “I’ve never been that narcissistic. Yet -- “

“Good,” said the Writer. “I can leave everything in your capable hands. I’m off for a cheeseburger and fries. Ta!” she said, and shut the door.

* * *

“I observe,” said Klaus, “That you’re not running away. In some situations, that implies consent.”

“No place to run to,” said Klaus. “That bitch would just catch me again.”

“Excuses, excuses.” He walked around the other man, studying that proud lift to the chin, the steady set of shoulder and back. Of course, he knew just what to look for, and what those contrary signals meant. “You’re terrified. Of me. You needn’t be. We are the same person, after all. No one could be more understanding.”

“We are NOT the same! You are some – some depraved bisexual copy of me. You should not exist – ”

The groom laughed, a rich and easy sound, not at all like the bark of bitter amusement that Klaus was used to. This idiot probably laughed all the time. “I’ve had everyone from Mischa to a certain Egyptian telling me that, but never myself.”

Klaus stilled. Never? Self-doubt had always been a personal demon he’d studiously ignored. “Never? Not even when you were younger?” His own teenage years had been a nightmare of horrified discovery.

The other man shrugged. “I am as Fate made me. Why fight that, when I cherish and use all my other gifts? Believe me, I doubt all the time! It took me years to find the courage to accept the mere idea that I was in love. Much less, of getting married. I was quite wild, you see --“ He’d stepped closer while speaking, until he was near enough to share breath with the motionless Major.

“W – wild? You – ”

“Slept around? Broke hearts? Yes – all of that nonsense. I’ve learned a little better, since then.” Another chuckle. “It’s been almost three months since I fucked someone I didn’t even like.”

“Does your poor fiancée know?” Klaus shot back, in outrage.

A familiar snarl answered him. “My poor fiancé was the reason I had to do it! Always in trouble, always just at the wrong place at the wrong time! I swear, I’ve met other avatars of myself who had the right idea – catch that idiot, chain him to a big soft bed, and throw away the goddamned key -- “

The original Klaus was still cheering this comforting display of fury, when one pronoun penetrated the fog of his sudden solidarity with this – blackguard and rake.

_Him._

“Him?” the Major whispered, feeling his knees quiver.

“Of course, him,” the rake said. “Who in any universe is my match and proper mate – but Dorian Red Gloria?”

“You’re marrying a man? _Him?!_ What kind of sick universe do you inhabit?”

Familiar hands caught his shoulders. “Apparently, a more-enlightened one than yours. At least, I’ve had fun, while still being NATO’s finest. More than you’ve ever done.”

“I have honour and duty – “

“Have you ever made love to anyone? Woman? Man?” At the frozen truth in the original’s face, Klaus whispered in disbelief. “Not even yourself?”

The original swallowed. No one could call his solitary, desperate activities anything but physical relief. Those moments certainly held no joy, outside the all-too-swift spasms of climax.

“You poor fool,” said the groom, and took the other man’s mouth in a deep, slow kiss. As he’d guessed, just the shock of it was enough to part Klaus’ clenched jaws. And once there were tongues involved, the groom knew that his double was lost. Two pairs of identical grey-green eyes closed – one in stunned discovery, the other in relaxed pleasure.

_Ach, Gott! He’s so damned good at this!_

_Hmmm. I see why Dorian likes kissing me so much._

_I can’t – I can’t – oh, not my neck, you bastard. Ohhhh --_

_There’s something very appealing about me as a shy virgin. I’ll have to ask Illya if I was at all like – oh, wait. I was never shy --_

* * *

“Excuse me, madam?”

The Writer looked up from her lunch and the latest issue of Lapidary Journal. “Dorian! You look lovely.”

He did – hair pulled back with simple gold clips, slim body cased in a white raw-silk tunic and pair of narrow trousers. White silk slippers, made for dancing, showed off his large but well-shaped feet. The blue eyes seemed torn between laughter and nervousness.

“Thank you for not putting me in a wedding dress.” He shuddered, just thinking about the sartorial farces she could have inflicted on him, in the name of canon.

“You’re welcome – though you should know, you also look smashing in red silk veils, with a ton of gold jewelry. Klaus seemed to think so, too.”

The milky-skinned Briton blushed. “Um. Yes. Well, according to the script, he’s supposed to knock on my door just before we go down to the main hall. Have you seen him, anywhere?”

“Yes. I just – oops!” The Writer slumped in the sofa, giggling. “Oh, dear! I left them in the office. With the futon.”

“Them?” Dorian said icily. “It’s my wedding, and you –”

The Writer grinned and stood up. “I just wanted to aim an irresistible force at an unmovable object. Would you like to watch?” She tugged on one white silk sleeve. “You might want to slither out of this. Fewer distractions, later.”

“I’m not really a voyeur. And I don’t even like threesomes,” he confessed. Still, he was out of the clothing in a few efficient seconds.

“This is special.” She laced fingers through his, coaxed him down the stairs to the basement office. Even fifteen feet away and behind a closed door, the sounds were arousingly-obvious. Soft rhythmic impacts and tiny squeaks, as furniture moved with the lovers. A certain rich laugh, breathless with desire, that Dorian knew all too well. Answering it – someone trying to stay silent, to hold back gasps and moans and fractured German curses.

“Who the hell – “ Dorian whispered.

“Ssshhh. Just watch,” the Writer whispered back, and silently eased the door open an inch for him.

In accordance with the odd rules that bent a Writer’s particular universe, the room beyond was no longer a crowded home office. Dorian had only just come from napping on that magnificent antique bed. Had folded his own clothing into sections of the heavily-carved dresser. He knew the bedside tables, the rug-covered stone floor, and the high-beamed ceiling of a castle in Germany. Of Klaus’ own suite, where he’d expected they’d both hide until the ceremony down in the great hall. Now more clothes were scattered on the floor, half-draped over the dresser. Including that charcoal Armani suit he’d picked out for --

Dorian drew breath for an offended snarl. Then stopped, blue eyes widening. “Good God,” he murmured. “There are two of them.” A bewildered pause. “Which one’s mine?”

The man pressed to the bed was sprawled in delicious abandon, long legs wrapped around his companion’s hips. The man kneeling above him moved in precise, powerful thrusts, each forward motion dragging muffled noises from his lover. Two spills of black silky hair feathered over two identical faces. Now they both moaned. Cursed. Laughed. The top brushed a tentative kiss on the bottom’s forehead; the bottom responded by nuzzling a certain spot on the top’s neck.

A louder gasp answered, almost a sob.

“Ah,” whispered Dorian, grinning. “Mine. That devastating mouth.”

The Writer eased the door open wider. “Aren’t they lovely? Want to join them?”

Dorian, startled out of dreamy pleasure, lifted his hand from his own twitching erection. “I don’t know – ” he began.

Up until that moment, though the top could have looked directly at the door, he’d been far too preoccupied with committing impossibly-sweet depravities. With himself. It was so much more compelling than masturbation had ever been, and he would worry about what that meant, later –

His frighteningly-skilled lover clenched around him in a way that made his own hips thrust instinctively harder, deeper. “Yes,” snarled the bottom, voice husking in the moments before climax. “Do it, sweetheart. Fuck me! Ach, Gott. Ja!”

The flash of milk-pale skin and golden hair caught the top’s attention. He looked up. Froze, at the sight of a naked Dorian standing not five feet away, hands pumping a slim and elegant cock. In spite of his arousal, the man looked hungry, shocked, more than a little hurt and vulnerable. Dorian even winced when the bottom, furious with thwarted lust, cried out “Don’t stop! Please, Klaus -- don’t stop!”

The expressions on Dorian’s face more than made up for enduring all his teasing and stupid jokes, over the years. I can hurt you, the top thought with savage triumph. I can wipe that idiot smile right off your face. But that wasn’t what he wanted at all. The familiar body under and around him was silky, stunning, a wonderful guide to show him his own needs and triggers. But he wanted Dorian’s body. Dorian, shuddering before orgasm. Dorian’s eyes misty, mouth drinking his –

Inevitably, the storm howled through him, a pleasure so intense and slow he thought he must faint. His lover screamed out with him, clutching him even closer.

His eyes stayed open through the aftermath, fixed on Dorian, as the thief silently and desperately worked at his own completion, a sulky pout curving his lips. Do it, mouthed the top silently at his audience. I want to see --

Lithe and controlled, the bottom broke their contact and slithered out from under him. “Who are you talking to -- oh.” A smug grin replaced his instant of shock. “Dorian, what the hell are you doing over there?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” drawled the top. “He’s being shameless, as usual.”

The bottom bit him, gently, right at the join between neck and shoulder. “Nein. Truly shameless would have him in bed with us, getting fucked from above and below…”

Dorian gasped, hands jerking away from his cock.

“Sounds – interesting,” purred the top, then frowned. “When I go back, I’m not going to remember any of this, am I? I’m _canon_.”

“Probably not,” said the bottom, sharing a sly look with a suddenly-brighter Dorian. “But we can make certain you have fantastic dreams – ”

The Writer sighed happily and closed the door. So much for editing another chapter. Ah, well – wasn’t there chocolate cake up in the kitchen?

fin


End file.
